"Kiki, can you bring the kids up to my apartment after work?" he asked.
"Um, no. Why can't you come get them?" I asked.
"Because I'm going home to take a nap, and I don't want to waste my gas," he told me matter-of-factly.
Oh, I see how it is. You want to have yourself a little snooze after a morning of fishing. Meanwhile, I've been chauffering the kids all over God's creation. PLUS, I'm actually working. And you can't get your lazy ass off the friggin couch to help me out, you shit? I couldn't believe I was actually hearing this.
"J-Fed, come on. I'm working, dude. Help me out," I pleaded. I couldn't believe I was really having this argument with him.
"Kiki, I ALWAYS come and get them," he snapped. Um, J-Fed, if you do come and get the kids, it's because you don't have a definitive time of when you're actually coming to collect them. Your schedule is like your moods -- everchanging and completely unpredicatble. I'd feel more confident sticking my face in front of a rabid dog's mouth than trying to guess when you're going to actually show up.
"J-Fed, my mother has been out of town and I've been driving everywhere. To school, from school. To dance, from dance. Just come and get them," I said.
"Um, as the primary custodial parent that's your responsibility," he maintained.
"You know what, J-Fed. Fuck you, asshole," I said before hanging up the phone.
I was seething when I got off with him. Once again, he reminded me of why he sucks ass. I mean, seriously. He had been friggin fishing and wanted to take a nap. I had working my ass off, and he couldn't do so much as pick the kids up. About an hour later, he called back. I can't remember exactly what he said since it all sounded like "womp, womp, womp." But he did point out that he was "kidding" and that he wasn't really going home to take a nap. Cough bullshit cough cough. If he was actually going to work, it was to work on screwing off.